The Most Important Yes or No Question of Your Life
by Yombatable
Summary: Oh god… Hidden under a photo of one of their most treasured memories together was undoubtedly a ring, definitely a man's one. Simple and gold and so polished he could see his own wide eyes reflected in the surface. OR... The fic in which Alistair finds a ring and then worries over nothing. ScotEng. One-Shot.


**I'm a sucker for a Scotty who worries. idk man, I think I've stopped worrying about the general fandom consensus for characters and now I just write them the way I want. Because if you don't write to please yourself then you're fighting a losing battle. The day I start writing characters that conform to canon will be a dark day for us all.**

 **Nevertheless, have this fluffy, strange, slightly disjointed piece of shit.**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

The days where Alistair didn't have work but Arthur did were always a strange mixture between boring and hectic. Boring in the way that all he did was; clean, feel the cats, try to make tea, work out they had no milk, wonder why the milkman hadn't come, get annoyed at the milkman, shove on a pair of shoes, walk to the shop, end up buying more than he needed, lugging it all home, having nowhere in the cupboards to put it, end up leaving it for Arthur to sort out, more cleaning, shitty day-time tv, lose track of time, etcetera, etcetera… Hectic for the same reasons.

Today had taken a twist in the routine already by the fact that the milkman had actually done his fucking job, so he found himself watching shitty day-time television ahead of schedule. After an hour of re-runs of shows he'd seen a million times failed to entertain him anymore, he rolled off the couch with a resigned sigh, looking up to the clock to see that there was still a good two hours until Arthur was due home.

He should probably make a start on dinner. Arthur had been going on recently about how they should eat less take-away.

But he hated cooking, so fuck that.

He stood and headed upstairs, to the one and only room he hadn't yet even looked at that day, Arthur's office. Which was either completely tidy or the complete antithesis of, and really there was no in between. He hoped it was the second, because then he'd have a reason to-

Eugh, fuck Arthur for being organized.

He loved the man, but it would pay him to be a little less responsible about the cleanliness of his workspace.

He plopped himself down in Arthur's desk chair with a pout, letting his eyes roam over Arthur's few belongings neatly placed on the desk. His eyes settled on the picture that sat propped up beside his boyfriend's computer. It was sweet, a picture from their third or fourth date…

They'd gone to a park and despite all advice to the contrary, they'd trusted the weather forecast and not brought an umbrella, it had started to rain, or well, 'rain' was actually too weak a verb, but Alistair wasn't sure how else to describe the ungodly downpour, so they had to hide in a chip-shop for three hours until it let up.

He felt himself smiling at the memory of Arthur's _awful_ green hair clinging to his forehead, and his eyes shining with laughter at their combined stupidity. And how they'd kissed through their laughter, sopping clothes clinging to each other, and lips cold with rainwater. They'd bought a portion of chips between them and sat on uncomfortable stools watching the rain.

The picture itself wasn't great, both of them were wet and bedraggled, and it was taken on a shitty phone camera, but…

Alistair picked up the photo, smiling gently. He was admittedly glad that this one didn't see the light of day outside of this room, but he felt his chest tighten fondly at the fact that Arthur deemed this memory precious enough to keep in his office.

Arthur acted all grumpy and tough, but he really was a romantic sop.

Something else caught his eye then, a small box the picture had been propped up on. His eyes widened and despite himself he reached for the little red velvet box as his heart jumped up into his throat.

It was un-extraordinary but delicate, with the unappealing texture to the outside that Alistair had always disliked, but he popped it open anyway.

His breath caught as all doubt as to what the box might be vanished.

Oh god… Hidden under a photo of one of their most treasured memories together was undoubtedly a ring, definitely a _man's_ one. Simple and gold and so polished he could see his own wide eyes reflected in the surface. From this side of the reflection he could picture Arthur sitting in this chair, holding the ring, then realizing he got a fingerprint on the surface, polishing it again until the fingerprint was gone, that crinkle of worry between his brows. Because he would worry. Worry about…

Shit, Arthur was going to propose.

Shit.

Uh, okay, shit, shit. Right. Uh…

He quickly popped the box closed, placed it back where he'd found it and put the photo back. And then he ran out of the office, and… well he wasn't sure.

He'd been with Arthur for three years, known him for their whole lives, it was only a sensible move… marriage, that was.

Ah, but he hadn't had any time to mentally prepare for this, Arthur hadn't given any hints that he'd wanted this, and well, if Alistair was being brutally honest, he'd always thought _he'd_ be the one to propose to his boyfriend, not the other way around.

Oh, but now his chest felt fuzzy and his hands were jittery and cloud nine was just a bit of discarded pride away. Arthur wanted to marry him. Ah fuck.

He bit down on his index finger through a smile.

Arthur wanted to marry him.

That thought made him just a little bit too happy for his pride to take, he wanted Arthur to come home early so he could kiss him and ruin the surprise and say yes, and then they'd laugh and hug, and have amazing 'we just got engaged' sex, and-

He shook his head through his giddiness, he couldn't ruin this. He would wait for Arthur to ask, and give himself time to really think about what marriage would mean for them.

Right.

He sucked in a long breath and held it in his lungs for a long moment in the hoped that it would stop the horrendous swelling and bursting and fireworksing in his chest, and managed to calm himself down enough to restlessly return to his day-time telly until Arthur came home.

* * *

By the time Arthur got home, he had come to the conclusion that he had no idea if he actually wanted to marry Arthur, or if he was just romanticizing the idea of being married to Arthur to the point where it sounded like a good idea.

Arthur himself greeted him by leaning over the couch and planting a kiss on his scalp, "Evening poppet, have a good day?"

Alaistair hummed, turning to look at his… oh well, this whole situation had now put titles into question. Stick with boyfriend for now. That made things easier. "It's been a bit of a mix, actually," He replied, sitting up and reaching out to pull Arthur in for a kiss, "I missed you today."

He wasn't entirely sure why that last bit slipped out, but Arthur didn't seem to mind all that much, because he just smiled and kissed him back. "Are we in one of those moods, poppet?"

Alistair shook his head, "No, I just-"

Arthur didn't let him finish his sentence, slipping clumsily over the back of the couch to sit on Alistair's lap. He peppered a few kisses along Alistair's cheek, before humming happily. "I missed you too," He said, and then, when Arthur cupped his cheeks and smiled softly and brushed their noses together while looking into his eyes as if he were the most amazing thing he'd ever gotten the privilege to witness, Alistair decided that marrying Arthur was _definitely not_ just a romanticization of a good idea.

Arthur could be his husband.

He could spend the rest of his life like this.

With Arthur…

* * *

By three o'clock the next morning, Alistair wasn't so sure any more.

Arthur was lying at his side peacefully, his breath catching in his throat and creating the most minuscule of snores, his face more relaxed than it ever got.

He wondered why now was the moment he was having doubts. Arthur looked beautiful in the little light that made it into the bedroom, all hard angles turned soft and gorgeous. Someone _anyone_ would be lucky to call theirs until death do they part.

Really, _really_ lucky.

Eugh! So why was he was having doubts!?

He'd thought the both of them had gotten over their commitment issues… or well, Alistair supposed Arthur had, so why couldn't _he_?

The thought of deciding something so important while they were so young (The voice in his head helpfully reminded him that he was almost definitely not _so_ young anymore, and that twenty-eight was a perfectly reasonable time to get married, but he carefully chose to ignore it)… it seemed silly. Or terrifying. Or both. It's not like they were going to have kid-

Wait.

What if Arthur wanted kids…?

What is he saying? _Of course_ Arthur wants kids.

He couldn't be a father!

He didn't know how to take care of a child!

Oh shit!

Fuck.

Okay, so this was fine, he'd just say no marriage, and then no kids, and then no…

Eugh! No Arthur!

Fuck this was hard!

* * *

The next morning didn't leave much room for deliberation on Alistair's part, he had work, and no sleep, so really all he could bring himself to do was down two cups of coffee, dress himself, kiss Arthur goodbye, and drag himself to work.

By midday he'd decided he wanted to marry Arthur just so then when he quit his job he'd be considered a 'house husband' and not just 'unemployed'.

By one in the afternoon, he'd decided that Arthur would be about as likely to let that happen as he would be to tell you the Beatles are overrated.

By two in the afternoon he'd decided that he wouldn't want to be a house husband anyway because then he'd have to rinse and repeat his 'Arthur's not home and I'm bored' cycle _every day_. His mates all had jobs, it's not like he could be a house _wife_ and just gossip with his peers over coffee all day. No, he'd have to gossip with the cat over coffee all day.

He should get coffee.

* * *

When Alistair got home from work, the beginnings of a caffeine crash tickling at him, Arthur was already home. An unappealing smell of either burning or something similar was coming from the kitchen and the fire alarm was disconnected from the ceiling and that really only meant one thing. Arthur had gotten home early enough that he'd started cooking without him.

If he married Arthur he'd have to deal with his cooking for the rest of their lives.

A small price to pay, he supposed.

"What the fuck is that smell?" He grimaced as he slumped into the kitchen and practically fell into a chair.

"Your dinner, so shut up and be grateful." Arthur snapped in reply.

"I didn't know you were leaving work early today." Alistair slumped tiredly over the table, his eyes falling closed, and he briefly wondered if it was the smoke that was making him drowsy or if it was the double espresso shot wearing off.

"There was a bug in the computer system which shut down the network, it won't be fixed until tomorrow. They sent us all home so they wouldn't have to pay us."

Alistair hummed absentmindedly.

"Hey, are you okay? You've been off since yesterday."

Alistair opened the eyes he hadn't been entirely aware he'd closed, looking up at the frowning Arthur tiredly. He yawned widely and hummed again, "Just tired Artie."

Arthur abandoned their dinner to wander over to him, crouching next to him, and twisting a small strand of Alistair's hair around his finger, "Are you sure?"

Well, Alistair could hardly tell him the real reason, namely that he had been up all night trying to decide whether or not he could let go of his fear of commitment for long enough to say that _yes of fucking course I will marry you, I love you so much you stupid piece of shit._

"Yeah, I just didn't sleep much last night."

"You should have told me if you haven't been sleeping."

"Why?"

"I'm your boyfriend," Arthur said, his eyes rolling in exasperation, "You should share things like this with me."

Alistair hummed one more time, "Okay, I didn't sleep much last night, and now I'm falling asleep on the kitchen table."

"Go and take a nap, love. Dinner can wait."

Another hum, "Okay."

* * *

When Alistair awoke, it was to the distant sound of something that might have been music, although all he could honestly hear was some muffled thumping.

He got up, yawning widely, and didn't bother to check the time as he wandered downstairs.

Arthur was in the living room, the thumping having turned out to be shitty night-time TV playing some film which Arthur had turned on loud enough to make you believe that he was seriously hard of hearing.

He did mercifully turn it down and put down his needlepoint when he noticed Alistair enter the room though, "Nice nap poppet?"

Alistair nodded, wandering over to him and collapsing onto the sofa beside him, "You're the root of all my fucking problems, you know that?"

Arthur chuckled out a sceptical note, "I am, am I?"

Alistair hummed, "You are, and I'd tell you specifics if I wasn't sure you'd hate me for ruining the surprise."

Arthur frowned, "What surprise?"

"I can't tell you. I'm not being the one responsible for ruining it. You'll never forgive me."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, a dissatisfied sound huffing out as he picked his needlepoint back up, "Have it your way, we both have our secrets now, I suppose."

Alistair grinned.

* * *

The next week was spent in a confusing mess of different marriage scenarios ranging from 'perfect, picket-fence, envy of the neighbourhood' marriage, to 'broken home, in debt, and pending divorce' marriage. Unfortunately he couldn't seem to manage anything other than romanticization or paranoia, so most of the fantasies fell nicely into one of those two categories.

Well, he said _'nicely'…_

It really depended on the situation as to which scenario nagged at him.

The evening that they had a screaming, snarling argument (which had admittedly been Alistair's fault) it had been the latter. But later that night, when they were curled into each other breathing out how much they loved each other between apologies and kisses, it had been a warm and glorious former.

* * *

On the next day both he and Arthur had the day off, Alistair found himself jittery. Jittery in the sense that Arthur had suggested they go out on a date and when he'd checked Arthur's study briefly he noticed the photo and box missing and that could only mean one thing.

Deep breaths Alistair. You can figure this out before he springs it on you.

Ah shit…

Arthur slipped his hands into Alistair's back pockets making him jump skittishly and Arthur chuckle, "You're so jumpy today pet, are you okay?"

Alistair couldn't call his nervous laugh reassuring, "Of course, I'm just- Aha… Feeling strange today."

Arthur grinned, "You're always strange, but especially so this morning."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Arthur's hands trailed up Alistair's sides, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck and Alistair could feel his heart speed up and he was entirely sure it was because he was entirely sure that Arthur's cheery mood and affection was entirely due to the fact he planned on proposing later.

Deeper breaths might be a good idea.

"Tell you what, have a hot shower, get ready, and we'll go out early and go to that doughnut shop you like so much." Arthur said, slinking around so he was pressed into Alistair's front, "How does that sound?"

Alistair smiled softly, kissing Arthur soundly on the mouth, "Or you could shower with me."

Arthur snorted out a laugh, but kissed him again anyway, "How can I say no to that offer?"

* * *

The shower had gone on longer than expected, but even still they managed a short detour to the aforementioned doughnut shop. And then they managed a short stop to lick the custard from the corner of Alistair's mouth. All of this had served to calm him down enough to act like himself again. That's not to say his paranoia and indecision weren't still on his mind, but at least Arthur seemed to have stopped worrying about him.

Which was good, because the _last_ thing he wanted to do was rain on Arthur's parade. Maybe that was some kind of sign that he really wanted- No, okay, _of course_ he wanted to marry Arthur, it was just his bloody paranoia about the future that was getting in the way.

This date was turning rather into something like their first ones. Giddy and frisky and slightly nervous. Arthur was missing his green hair and ripped jeans, of course, and Alistair reluctantly found himself missing the ugly combination.

"You should dye your hair again," He said as they walked, making Arthur snort.

"You hated my hair when it was dyed."

"I did." Alistair admitted, ruffling Arthur's plain blonde hair. "Doesn't mean I don't kinda miss it."

"Green hair is rather unprofessional, don't you think?" Arthur asked, swatting Alistair's hand away.

"Nah, you could pull it off."

"Hmmn, Maybe."

Alistair snorted, "You're allowed to say that you think the idea is shit, you know?"

"I don't think it's shit, I just don't want to get fired."

Alistair grinned, "You could get fired," he said, grabbing Arthur by the waist and making Arthur narrow his eyes at him, "I could be your sugar daddy."

"Let's keep your kinks to the bedroom, shall we?" Arthur replied sarcastically, "And I'm not sure you make enough money to earn the title of 'sugar daddy'."

"I make plenty enough. You'd eat."

"Oh fantastic, thank you for offering me the _luxury_."

* * *

As the night went on, all the way through the afternoon, the walk in the park, and then an early dinner, and then an after-dinner coffee, and _constant paranoia of why the fuck hasn't it happened yet? He's supposed to be proposing! Just fucking ask already it's killing me!_

Deep breaths Alistair.

He didn't even ask on the way home! And then even when they _got_ home, not a-

"Alistair?"

Alistair, slightly frazzled, turned around with a cur-

 _Oh_ … Now then…

Arthur was on one knee, and shit, okay, he had a stupid little smile on his face and Alistair fell in love a little more at seeing that expression.

"I kept thinking about when exactly I was going to do this, and at first I was going to do it in the park, but then I thought that if you declined we likely wouldn't want to go to dinner, so then I thought I'd ask at dinner, but that is _far_ too cliché, and you and I may be too cliché for our own good my dear, but I refuse to top the cake with this proposal, so then I considered it at the coffee shop, but I- uh…" Arthur rather suddenly seemed to realize he'd been rambling, his cheeks heating up substantially.

Alistair bit his lip, choking out a laugh and finding himself surprisingly calm, "Are you actually gonna pop the question, or are you just going to tell me about all the times you considered popping the question?"

Arthur scowled at him, and Alistair laughed again, albeit nervously, "It would be easier if you weren't going to be such a prick about it."

"It would be easier to answer if you'd ask."

Arthur pulled out the ring box, chewing on his lip, and when he opened it, it was the exact same polished ring that Alistair had found a week ago. Same golden shine, same pristine polish, same wide-eyed reflection.

Okay, time was up. He had to decide what he was going to do now or never.

"Alistair, my love, will you do me the honour of marrying my sorry arse?"

"What? No choreographed dance routine?" He asked, and frankly he was amazed he could manage sarcasm at a time like this.

Arthur's eyes narrowed, "You can't rush along the proposal and then stall the answer!"

Alistair took one last deep breath and then dropped to his knees in front of Arthur so they were at the same height, "Yeah, okay. We can give marriage a go if you want." He said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, his mouth curving up into a smile.

The answer really hadn't been hard to come by in the end, and he didn't doubt that he'd done the right thing as the ring was slipped onto his finger. In truth, he wasn't sure there was ever a dilemma to begin with, as soon as Arthur had lowered himself to his knee it was clear there was only ever one answer to the most important yes or no question of his life.

Another deep breath seemed appropriate however.

Ahh, and then Arthur was kissing him, and the pit in his stomach wasn't bothering him at all, and what was he worried about, everything would be fine…

* * *

Later that night, Alistair was dozing peacefully, half-awake and running his fingers through Arthur's hair as he slept. Sure he was sure the worry wasn't gone, but at least he didn't have to worry about the proposal anymore all he had to worry about was the…

 _Oh fuck!_

The Wedding.

* * *

 **HAHA and I left the ending open to tease a sequel as well, I'm an awful person hahahahaha omg it's terrible because the chances of me actually writing that are so small.**


End file.
